I am lying on the lower bunk in a concrete cell behind iron bars. I pretend to be asleep when two men walk in. I listen as one of the men curses me for taking his bunk.
I am lying on a simple bed in the gymnasium. The young man darts in and is frozen in disbelief when he sees me reading Jane Eyre.
Back home in Ontario the sale of beer and alcohol is tightly controled by the provincial government. It seems both futuristic and hedonistic that at the John Knox Centre I can simply walk down the hall and get a can of beer from a vending machine.
At the vending machine I meet a man from Suriname. He asks me if I know where that is. I am ashamed to say I do not.